


The Young Dragon

by AdrianWrites



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M, Gen, Jon Snow has a mom, Jon Snow is Not Called Aegon, Jon Snow is a Targaryen, Kinda, King Jon Snow
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-04
Updated: 2019-06-20
Packaged: 2020-04-07 12:34:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19085137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AdrianWrites/pseuds/AdrianWrites
Summary: "Every time a new Targaryen is born, the gods flip a coin and the world holds its breath to see how it lands."Jon Snow is the bastard son of the Lord of Winterfell. He is being fostered at Greywater Watch. He is raised by his mother Ashara Dayne and her brother Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning....or...Daeron Targaryen is the trueborn heir of the late Rhaegar Targaryen. He is being held at Greywater Watch for his own safety. He is being raised by his adoptive mother Ashara Dayne and is being protected by the first of his Kingsguard, Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning.





	1. PROLOGUE

She had been high up in the Tower when she first heard the pounding of horses’ hooves in the distance. She looked over at the knight sitting across the room. His face was stone, unmoving, revealing nothing to her. The only sign he gave to show had heard them as well was the long, deep breath he took. Otherwise, he remained stoic, staring at some unmarked spot in the floor.

She looked next to the young woman who was laying in a bed of blood and tears. The She-Wolf appeared frail and quite ill. A fever had taken to her at the start of her labor and still plagued her now. Her face was damp with sweat and her skin was pale and sickly. She knew the girl would not last much longer. The knight knew it too.

Outside the Tower, she heard voices, quiet and calm. For one naive moment, she allowed herself to believe this would all end peacefully. Then she heard the swords being drawn and the clashing of steel against steel. The knight gripped the pommel of his sword so tightly that his knuckles turned white. He moved from his seat, but instead of running off to join his brothers, he turned to the square window behind him and peered out towards the mountaintops. 

The fighting was over as quick as it began and for a moment, there was silence, save for the erratic thumping of her heart in her chest and the labored breathing of the Wolf. A man at the base of the Tower yelled something up at them, a name, and began taking the steps two or three at a time. The man burst through the door, blood-stained sword still in his hand. He was a handsome man, if not somewhat plain, of average height and build with long brown hair tied back and dark eyes that flickered around the room wildly.

“Lyanna!” he exclaimed, taking a step towards the bed before halting himself and raising his blade towards the knight. The knight unbuckled his sword belt without so much as turning to look at the other man and leaned the greatsword against the wall. He turned then, setting his violet eyes upon the newcomers’. A moment passed, then two, as both men waited to see what the other would do next. Then the knight bowed his head and fell back against his chair. The man sheathed his sword and went to the girl’s side.

“Ned? Is that you?” her voice was weak and quiet, a far cry from the strong and proud Wolf that she had come to know over the past year-and-a-half. 

“It’s me, sweet sister. I’m right here,” the man, Ned, took his sister’s hand in his. “I’m here to come get you, to take you back North.”

“I missed you Ned; I missed you so much,” Lyanna didn’t cry, she knew what was coming and she was taking it on with the dignity befitting a Stark. “Promise me, Ned. Promise me you’ll take care of him.”

She took this as her cue and lifted up the child from the crib against the wall. He looked up at her with those beautiful indigo eyes and she smiled down on him. He hadn’t made a sound when he came into the world, something that drove fear into both herself and the knight. They had thought him stillborn until they had a good look at him, until those eyes peered up at them. They were his father’s eyes.

“His name is Daeron, Ned.” Lyanna continued, as the girl handed the child over to her brother. “Promise me you’ll watch after my boy. Promise me you’ll protect him.”

“I promise, Lya. I promise.”

Lyanna Stark had died with a smile on her face, watching her loyal, honorable brother holding her son in his arms. There was a moment of silence.

“That’s Rhaegar’s child,” the girl turned to see who had spoken. Another man stood in the room with them; she did not know how long he had been there. He was short in stature with pale green eyes and brown hair cut close to his head.

“The bastard son of my sister and Rhaegar Targaryen,” came Ned’s answer, though he didn’t raise his eyes from the child in his arms.

“Not quite,” it was the knight who spoke now. “The prince had married your sister on the Isle of Faces, not long after the Tourney at Harrenhal. You’re holding Daeron Targaryen, trueborn son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark.” That caught Ned’s attention enough for him to stand and face the knight.

“Rhaegar already had a wife, Ser Arthur, as you well know.”

“Aegon the Conqueror had two wives. He was not the first dragon to practice polygamy, nor the last,” the knight informed him, before pausing, “ _ had  _ a wife?”

“Aye,” Ned replied, his voice thick with emotion, “Princess Elia is dead. As are her children.” He looked back to the boy then, an errant tear dripping down onto the boy’s swaddling blanket.

“How?” Arthur’s face was a mask of pure rage and she feared he was about to reach for his sword, the pale white greatsword called Dawn.

“Tywin Lannister had them murdered. He presented their bodies to Robert as a gift.” Ned turned to look at the knight once more. “We cannot let anyone know this child is Rhaegar’s. Who knows already?”

“I take it my brothers are dead,” the knight assumed. Ned replied with a clenched jaw and a nod. “Then only those in this room.”

Ned looked around and caught eyes with her, as if he was truly seeing her for the first time. “What’s your name, girl?”

“Wylla, my lord. I was your sister’s handmaiden and your nephew’s wet nurse.” Ned sized her up. She thought to herself that it would probably be safest for him to kill her, not that she would ever tell a soul of the boy’s father.

“The girl is loyal, Lord Stark. She was Princess Lyanna’s only friend for some time.” Ser Arthur spoke to her defense, and that seemed good enough for Ned Stark.

“Very well. The boy’s name shall be Jon, Jon Snow. I’ll claim him as my own and take him North with me. Wylla will come with me.”

“As will I,” the knight claimed, plucking up his belt and tying it around his waist. “Aerys is dead. Rhaegar is dead. Aegon and Rhaenys are dead. That boy is my King and I am a Kingsguard. I will protect him until my dying day.”

“Robert will never let you abandon your position of your own accord. And how would we explain why a Kingsguard would pledge his life to some Northern Lord’s bastard?”

“Robert Baratheon, for what he is, is smart enough to realize he doesn’t want the Sword of the Morning as his enemy. As for an explanation, we tell them the child is Ashara’s and that I am a caring uncle who wants to help raise my nephew. It would explain his dark hair and purple eyes.”

“You would have me claim I dishonored your sister?! You would have me bring shame upon her name?”

The knight’s face fell. “You don’t know?”

“Know what?”

“At the Tourney of Harrenhal, your brother Brandon gave my sister a child, a daughter who died upon birth. She hasn’t left Starfall since.” Ned processed the knight’s words in silence, his face giving nothing away of the emotions running rampant inside him. “This child might actually be good for her. She can come North with us. It’ll make our story that much more believable.”

“I have a wife waiting for me, Ser. Bringing a bastard home is one thing, bringing his mother is a different thing entirely.”

The knight opened his mouth to speak, but the small man in the corner spoke up first. “I can foster the child at Greywater Watch. Lady Ashara will be welcome there.” Ned looked like he was going to argue, but the other man didn’t give him a chance to speak. “For centuries, ironborn and andals alike attempted to conquer Greywater Watch, and not a single man has ever been able to find the castle, unless House Reed wanted them to. There isn’t a place in Westeros where the babe would be safer.”

Silence for just a moment while Ned thought through all that he had found at the Tower of Joy. Ned had found his sister, no longer a Northern maiden, but a Targaryen Princess. He had found a loyal servant and three members of the Kingsguard, of which only one remained, the stalwart guardian of his best friend’s son. He had found Daeron Targaryen, the Third of His Name, Rightful King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm. He had found Jon Snow, the bastard son of the noble Eddard Stark and beautiful Ashara Dayne. He had found the fate of the kingdoms, for better or worse.


	2. ASHARA

Ashara sat in a tall-backed chair, watching from afar as her son and Lord Reed’s daughter were being taught by Maester Rylan. When they arrived at Greywater Watch nearly six years ago, the castle had no maester, nor a master-at-arms. The number of servants was small and guards smaller still. Lord Reed had agreed to commission a young maester from the Citadel to help teach the children, but insisted that no master-at-arms would be needed, nor an increase in the number of guards in the castle itself. Lord Reed planned on training his children himself and offered to help train Jon as well. Between him and Ser Arthur, she agreed that a master-at-arms would be pointless. She still believed that more guards should be present, but anytime she voiced her concern, he would remind her of the number of crannogman that were out patrolling the marshes at any given moment. It infuriated her, but this was his home, so she would bite her tongue.

“What now?” Her brother had taken to his new life like a fish takes to water. His hair was cut short and a few days worth of stubble covered his face. He rarely wore his armor these days. Instead he chose to wear boiled leather, and carried around a plain steel longsword and left Dawn in his quarters. “You’ve got that worried look on your face. What’s troubling you, sister?”

“With the conflict going on, don’t you think we should have more guards at the castle?” She asked him, quietly so that the children wouldn’t hear. Balon Greyjoy had recently declared himself King of the Iron Islands, rebelling against what he surely thought would be a weak and uncertain rule.

“The Ironborn haven’t come this far North and they aren’t likely to, after what happened to them at Seaguard.  _ King  _ Robert has the rebellion under control.” Ashara didn’t miss the bitterness in his voice when he spoke of the new king. She opened her mouth to argue, but he cut her off. “Ashara, I love him just as much as you do. If I felt he was in danger, I would be the first to act, I promise you.”

She looked over again at her boy, at her little dragon. She was one of only five people in the world who knew the truth, a truth she would take to her grave if she had to.

 

_ She was already well on her way to Starfall when she found out she was pregnant. While on the road, her breasts had become sore and she began feeling tired and weak at all hours of the day. Next came the dizziness and then stomach sickness. When her moonblood didn’t come, her handmaiden told her exactly what she had been dreading. _

_ “You have a child growing inside of you, my lady, a little wolf.” Her handmaiden had gone on about it like Ashara was a star-crossed lover from one of the children’s tales. Ashara was not in love with Brandon Stark. The truth was that Brandon wasn’t even the Stark she had wanted to come and find her that warm spring night. Alas, the Quiet Wolf was too honorable to come steal away a maiden, so it was his brother that came to her. Brandon was a strong and handsome man, and far too charming for his own good, so she had let him into her bed. She did not regret that night, nor did she regret the bastard growing in her belly. But Brandon was to be wed to one of the Tully girls and her child was destined to be fatherless.  _

 

_ Ashara cried a lot while she was pregnant. The maester at Starfall said that it was normal. She cried when she found out her favorite gowns no longer fit over her swelling stomach. She cried when she dropped a bowl of stew one evening at suppertime. She even cried sometimes while she stared off at the sunset, wondering whether it would be a boy or a girl. _

_ When she received news of Brandon Stark’s death, she did not cry. She wanted to. She wanted to weep for the son or daughter who would never even meet their father, but she didn’t. She couldn’t. So she ate her stew and watched the sunset and prayed to the Seven that her child had their father’s strength. _

_ News of the war came to Ashara in waves. She knew that King Aerys had called for Robert Baratheon and Ned Stark’s heads. She knew that Jon Arryn had called his banners instead of giving in to the King’s demands. Then silence for quite some time. She supposed it made sense that people wouldn’t waste their time sending word to Starfall while the battles raged on. So she waited and tried not to worry about all the ways the world was falling apart around her. She thought about her child. She thought only of her child. _

 

_ When the babe finally came, Ashara was in the most pain she had ever felt. She felt as if someone were stabbing her in the belly with a hot knife over and over and over again. She screamed her voice raw as the child tore its way out into the world. An hour passed. Then another. All she could do was scream, for hours. She called out to a ghost to give her strength. She hoped he could hear her. _

_ Her child was silent when they arrived. That didn’t worry her. She had no idea something was wrong until she sat up and looked into the eyes of the maester who had delivered the babe into the world. _

_ “I’m so sorry, my lady. The child… she…” the maester had tried stammering out an explanation. She couldn’t hear his words over the pounding of her own heart in her ears.  _ My baby is dead.

_ She cried then. _

 

_ She had been in the Palestone Sword Tower when they came. _

_ “Sister,” Arthur looked grim when he walked in, but a smile forced its way onto his face as he pulled her into a hug. She tried to smile as well. Ned, Lord Stark, came in next, followed closely by another man she didn’t know and a young woman. A young woman carrying a babe. She turned away as the tears began welling up in her eyes. _

_ They sat her down and told her the truth. They told her what they needed her to do. Her brother seemed so certain that she would jump at the opportunity to raise another woman’s child. She was not quite so sure. She wanted to say no. She tried to form the word on her tongue. But her eyes were locked on the child and her mouth wouldn’t move. Then the woman laid the child into her arms. _

_ He was perfect. A beautiful little babe with a thick tuft of black hair and deep blue eyes that watched her every movement. She realized so suddenly the sad state of the two of them. They were a mother who had lost their baby and a child who would grow up without a mother. She did not know which was a worse fate, but she knew she didn’t want to let Daeron, Jon, live out that life. _

_ “Yes,” she said, as the tears ran down her cheeks once more.  _ This shall be my son and I shall love him until my last.

 

“Mama!” Ashara looked up just in time to see Jon barreling towards her. She caught him up in her arms for a quick hugs before the boy pulled himself away. “Can me and Meera go play?” She looked up at Rylan first to see if the children were done with their lessons, and upon receiving a nod from the young maester, let Jon run off with Meera at his heels. Arthur straightened his back as he watched the boy go and turned to her with the same stone-faced expression she had seen everyday for the past moon’s turn.

“No,” she said for what seemed like the hundredth time and rose from her seat. She already knew what he was going to say.

“Sister, he is nearing his seventh name-day. It’s time for him to start training.” Her brother fell in step next to her.

“I said ‘no’ Arthur. He’s too young.”

“Plenty of boys start training at his age. Plenty of boys his age have already been training for a year or more.”

“He isn’t just any boy. He’s held to a higher standard.”

“Aye, and he’ll be held to a higher standard on the battlefield too.” She stopped and looked up at her brother with all the anger she could summon. She knew the meaning of his words, what he wasn’t saying.

“You mean to raise him for war,” her voice was cold and startling enough to give even the great Ser Arthur Dayne pause.

“I mean to raise him for leadership,” he leaned in, looking his sister in the eyes. “I mean to raise him for a crown.” 

“I thought the whole point of all  _ this,”  _ she gestured to the castle around her for emphasis, “was to keep the world from knowing his truth.”

“His truth may be the only thing that can save the Seven Kingdoms from men like Robert Baratheon and Tywin Lannister. Besides, I was never going to deny the boy what was rightfully his.” 

She felt the rage leave her all too quickly at his words. Men like Robert Baratheon and Tywin Lannister would leave the world a ruin if they weren’t kept in check. She leaned back against the wall behind her and glanced to either side. The long hallway was empty save for the two of them. “When?”

“I’d like to start training him tomorrow.”

“No, Arthur. When do you mean to press his claim?”

Her brother stood in silence for a moment. Then another. She might’ve assumed he hadn’t heard her if not for the subtle clenching and unclenching of his jaw. “It won’t be for quite some time. He’ll have the North at his back if the war can be justified. With him, Lord Stark brings the Riverlands and perhaps the Vale. The Tyrells and Martells could be won over if we show them a true king. The pieces must fall into place and the little Dragon-Wolf must be prepared, but we cannot wait too long, lest the realm start to forget.” He took another moment to breathe and think. “Ten years. Maybe more, maybe less.”

She nodded then.  _ Ten years. She would have ten years to convince her brother that this was a bad idea. Ten years to think of another way. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to be taking certain liberties with the character of 'Jon Snow' in the story. Both his appearance and his personality. Book-Jon has brown hair, grey eyes, and isn't especially attractive. My Jon has black hair and indigo eyes, eyes like his father. He looks much like his "mother" Ashara in his coloring and his beauty. Speaking on beauty, while in the books Jon isn't noted as being all that attractive, he is the son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark, two people constantly regarded as beautiful/handsome. My Jon has inherited those looks. Personality wise, My Jon may seem OOC at times and that's because, well, My Jon isn't Jon. He grew up completely differently than canon-Jon did and that will be reflected in who he is and becomes throughout the story.
> 
> Feel free to leave any comments, complaints, criticisms, suggestions, or kind words. I read them all. Additionally, the story should be more regularly updated from here on out, so I hope you enjoy it.


	3. ARTHUR

Arthur leaned against the wall beneath the shadows of the walkway above his head. Out in the yard ahead of him, Jon stood across from Lord Stark’s heir. Jon’s tenth name-day had come and passed, so his sister and Lord Stark were permitting the boy to travel more frequently between Greywater Watch and Winterfell. Jon and Robb were both wearing padded tunics, and were sizing each other up with a shield in one hand and a wooden practice sword in the other.

Jon seemed stiff. He wasn’t moving his feet as gracefully as he normally did. When Robb pushed forward, Jon gave up the ground. When Robb lunged, Jon raised his shield sluggishly, as if the weight of it was unfamiliar to him. He didn’t even attempt a counterattack and Robb sent him to the ground unceremoniously.

“What happened bastard? Your fancy knight uncle not teach you anything?” Theon Greyjoy asked between snorts of laughter. The rather cruel youth was a hostage taken from Balon Greyjoy after his failed Rebellion. A rather unwelcome addition to what should be Jon’s second home. The boy had enough to deal with.

“Theon!” Stark’s voice boomed down from above. Arthur had heard the soft, sure steps of the Lord of Winterfell from below, but it seemed that neither Greyjoy nor Robb had, as both nearly jumped out of their boots at his voice. Jon did not so much as look up at his father.

“I’m sorry, Lord Stark,” Theon suddenly found something quite interesting about the dirt at his feet.

“Perhaps Jon is a slower learner than most,” Arthur pushed himself off from the wall and stepped out into the courtyard. Everyone turned to look at the Sword of the Morning. “Just means he’ll have to work harder at it. With your leave, Lord Stark.” Arthur locked eyes with Jon. As soon as Stark dismissed them, Jon was quickly returning his equipment and following at Arthur’s heels.

He led the boy out into the Godswood. The summer snows had left a light white covering across the ground, which crunched underfoot. Otherwise, they walked in silence past the grey-green sentinels and thick, black ironwoods. After some time, they reached a dark, almost oily pool set just before a stout white and red heart tree. Arthur cared little for the gods, in truth, but Jon was raised in light of both the Old Gods of the North and the Seven. The boy did enough to appease Ashara when it came to the Faith, but anyone could see he found more peace in the Godswood than in the sept.

Arthur crossed over to a flat stretch of open land beside the pool and unbuckled his sword belt. It was a cross-marked bolt of leather that held a sheathed blade at either side. The knight took one for himself and tossed the other at Jon’s feet. The boy picked it up and unsheathed the sword, taking up his stance. “Now that your gods are watching, perhaps you’ll give up your little mummer’s farce.”

“I wasn’t-” Jon began to speak, but Arthur was already lunging forward and slashing at him with his blade. Jon stepped back to dodge the first, then parried the second and third. The weapon was solid steel, not the light wooden practice swords the others used in the yard, and he was still young, not strong enough to outright block the strikes. Arthur had taught him to use his small size and swiftness to his advantage, dodging what he can and deflecting when he must. Arthur feigned low and swung high. Jon ducked, rolling on his side and bouncing up to his feet. He swung at the knight with all his power, but he was off balance. Arthur merely stepped aside and let the boy fall to the forest floor. He was quick to rise, but not quick enough. Arthur meet him in one long stride and knocked the blade from his hand.

“It doesn’t matter if your opponent seems vulnerable, if you aren’t properly prepared to attack, don’t commit.” Arthur cupped the boy’s head with his free hand, forcing him to look into his eyes. _He has his father’s looks,_ he thought to himself. He has his mother’s hair and her long face, but his high cheekbones, firm brow, and strong jawline were his father’s. It was his eyes that startled Arthur the most. When he looked into those eyes, all he saw was Rhaegar staring back at him.

“Yes, uncle,” Jon’s response was quiet, his voice low and unsure. As soon as Arthur pulled his hand away, the boy’s eyes were back to the ground at his feet. The difference between the spirited and willful dragon-wolf the boy was at Greywater Watch and the reserved, brooding child he was at Winterfell was nearly heartbreaking. Back home, the child never knew the shame in being a Northern bastard. Arthur, his sister, and Lord Reed knew the truth of the boy’s parentage and even if they didn’t, not one of them saw any shame in being a bastard. The young girl, Meera, had grown close to Jon over the years. She had become his closest friend. Her presence was sorely missed now. Arthur often thought back on the day before he and Jon left for their first visit to Winterfell a few years ago.

 

_He had been out in the open-air courtyard, sharpening his two steel broadswords when Meera had approached him. The girl seemed as much his responsibility since coming to Greywater Watch as Lord Reed’s. Howland had received a serious chest wound in his battle with Ser Oswell and The White Bull, and was not as lively as he may have once been. Lady Jyana Reed was a kind and caring woman, but not a very vibrant one, and so Meera chased Jon about the castle, or sat and spoke with Ashara for hours, or followed Arthur around, asking him questions of knighthood and Dorne and what it was like serving the Targaryens._

_“You and Jon are leaving for Winterfell?” she was unusually quiet, so he set aside his work and turned to face her._

_“We will be leaving in the morning, yes.”_

_“Can I come with you?”_

_“Not this time, my Lady. Perhaps another visit.” the girl’s face fell at that, but she only shrugged and nodded. She chewed her bottom lip and scuffed her boot against the ground. “Well, let’s hear it Meera.”_

_“Hear what?” She looked up at him with that mischievous look in her eye._

_“The question you actually came to ask.” He slid over on the bench and gestured for her to sit._

_“Jon’s father is Lord Stark, right?”_

_He clenched his jaw and nodded. When she didn’t respond, he looked over at her. She was still looking towards the ground, at her legs dangling over the edge of the smoothstone bench. “Aye, Jon’s father is Lord Stark,” he said aloud._ A half-truth, _he had thought to himself. Jon Snow’s father is Eddard Stark. Daeron Targaryen’s father was…_

 _“Then why is he Jon_ Snow _and not Jon_ Stark?”

 _“Because he’s a bastard.”_ Someday I won’t have to lie anymore, _Arthur thought bitterly. He grew tired of the lies, tired of pretending the rightful King of the Seven Kingdoms was no more than a Northern lord’s shame._

_“What’s a bastard?” her legs swayed back and forth as she asked. Oh how he envied the blissful ignorance of youth._

_“A bastard is a child born out of wedlock. Lord Stark is his father, but Lady Stark is not his mother.” She was silent for several moments, as if she was waiting on him to continue._

_“And?” her feet stopped swaying. “Is that it?”_

_He smiled down at her. “Aye, that’s it.”_

_“He doesn’t get a name, because Lord Stark and Lady Ashara weren’t married?” he nodded. “That’s stupid!” she exclaimed. He nodded again._

 

He thought back on that day as he kneeled down in front of the oily black pool and peered in at his reflection. Meera Reed was a good ally for Jon. She may not be able to give armies to his cause, but she helped the boy keep his humanity. She kept him from losing himself under all the weight of being a bastard. She may very well help him stay sane when he takes his throne. “You could’ve beaten him in the yard.” He already had. The first day they arrived, Robb had invited Jon to spar with him. Jon had put the heir to Winterfell on his arse in under thirty seconds. “You last longer against me than most grown men would and you’re only ten.”

“That’s cause I know you and how you fight.” Jon had moved to kneel before the heart tree.

“No, it’s because you’re quick. Both your body and your mind.” He looked over his shoulder at the boy, saw the edges of his mouth quirk up for just a moment, before the scowl returned. “You could’ve beaten him, so why didn’t you?”

“A bastard shouldn’t beat a trueborn son of Ned Stark.” he was taken aback by Jon’s words. He realized they weren’t his own. They were the words of Catelyn Tully. The upjumped trout was sowing the seeds of hatred in the boy’s head. He wanted to say something, to march into the keep and give the woman a piece of his mind. But he was a disgraced knight, the former guard to the Mad King, and she was the Lady of this castle, so he would keep silent. Keep silent and keep Jon as far away from her as possible. _She’ll get hers in the end._

“If a bastard shouldn’t beat a trueborn son, then maybe the trueborn son should practice harder,” Arthur moved to kneel beside him then. “Jon, look at me. There’s nothing wrong with you. You are kind, loyal, dutiful. And you’re already shaping up to be a damn fine warrior. Not having the Stark name does not make you lesser than them.”

“Robb will be Lord of Winterfell some day,” Jon stated, staring up into the bleeding eyes of the heart tree. “What will I be?”

Arthur reached over and squeezed the boy’s shoulder. “Whatever you want to be.”

 

Per his request, Arthur had been given the room right beside Jon’s. That’s why he was the first through the door that night, Dawn in hand, when the boy had let out a scream that turned the knight’s blood to ice. Jon was in bed, shirtless and with his furs tossed aside. Despite this, his skin was slick with sweat and his dark locks were matted down. The room was otherwise empty.

“Are you hurt?” Arthur asked. The boy gave no response. He approached the bed, setting Dawn down beside him as he looked the boy over. _No blood. No wounds._ “A nightmare?” Jon met his eyes then. The normally vibrant indigo gave way into a dark violet color. It was all he could do to keep himself from flinching away.

“What happened? Are you alright?” Lord Stark was the next in through the door, still in his smallclothes. Behind him came Ser Rodrik Cassel and the young heir, Robb. Arthur could make out the shadows of a guardsman or two out in the hallway behind them.

“Is Jon okay?” Robb asked, looking between his father and Ser Arthur. The worry in the little lordling’s voice sobered Arthur up.

“A dream. Only a dream.” Arthur replied, looking Lord Stark in the eyes. _Only a dream._ Stark’s jaw clenched and unclenched. He turned to his son and Ser Rodrik, dismissing them. Robb protested, but was eventually guided back to his room by the master-at-arms. Lord Stark closed the door behind him and joined Arthur at the bedside. Arthur hadn’t yet been to sleep, so he offered up the cloak he was still wearing to the Lord. “You’re safe, Jon. Your father and I are right here to protect you.”

Jon didn’t look so sure. Lord Stark pulled over a chair from beside the fireplace and took a seat beside the bed. “Why don’t you tell me about your dream, son. What frightened you so?” Jon swallowed and took a deep breath, then another. He took a moment to collect his thoughts, to put it all together.

“I was standing in the snow, walking towards a wall of ice that shot up into the sky further than I could see,” Jon started, his voice quiet and wavering. “There was a rose sticking out of the ice. I tried to reach for it, but it caught flames before I could touch it.” He opened his mouth to continue, then snapped it shut. Tears welled in his eyes.

“Go on, son,” Lord Stark said, placing his hand atop Jon’s.

“Wolves surrounded me, but then came the lions, and bears, and an army of men without skin. The wolves were killed all around me. All I could do was stand beside and watch as they were slaughtered.” he was racing through his words, each bleeding into the next. “Then came a dragon so big that he filled the sky and hid the moon. He cried out into the night and suddenly the wall fell down and winter came and froze the army where they stood.” Lord Stark let out a breath of relief, but Jon wasn’t finished. A shudder went through the boy. “Winter came and the dead came with it. A thousand thousand dead soldiers rode past me on skeleton horses and leading the army was a man of ice, wearing a crown and the skin of dead Starks.”

The room was silent. Arthur looked at Jon, Jon looked at Lord Stark, and Lord Stark looked at the floor. Somewhere off in the distance a wolf howled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, updates will come in quicker than before. Likely every few days, but don't get too mad at me if I slip up.  
> This story will follow a liberally altered plotline starting with the birth of Jon Snow (Daeron Targaryen) and telling the whole story of ASOIAF. Well, my changed story of ASOIAF at least. The story centers around Jon specifically (obviously) and things such as dates, specific events, character portrayals, etc. can and will be changed to better suit the story, so please don't get mad at me if I don't accurately follow the canonical timeline or make characters seem OOC.  
> I'll be adding characters, relationships, and such in the tags as the story unfolds. I'll also be adding the Major Character Death tag now, preemptively. No need to worry just yet, but yeah, it's ASOIAF: people will die.  
> Thank you for reading! Feel free to leave me any comments, criticisms, suggestions, or questions. I do read them all even if I don't always reply.


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